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An Offer They Couldn't Refuse
The Direx chamber has undergone a stunning transformation in the hours since G.S. Qwynt VIII was named Prex. The conference table has been removed, and an exterior wall removed. A stack of transparisteel plates is resting there in the room, still in brown packaging. Apparently some sort of huge window is being installed, though for now it is merely a large gaping hole overlooking a sheer precipice. It is a stomach-churning height with an incredible view. Cold, brisk wind whips around the room. In the center of the room, a huge chiseled black throne has been set up. The throne is occupied by a diminutive Toydarian. Qwynt is wearing a small black wig, with oiled ringlets falling down the sides of his face. His skin is heavily powdered, cheeks rouged, and eyes set off with some light eyeliner. Qwynt's crown is a golden laurel, and his garb is a simple white gown. He has summoned Jabs and Smitherbodkins here to discuss their business deals. He said the matter was urgent. Although the Direx chamber has undergone a vast transformation, the only change to the antechamber has been the addition of several lazy construction workers on break. Jabs ignores them as she breezes by, approaching the doors to the main conference room. As the doors slide open, the howling wind nearly knocks the diminutive woman off her feet. Before she can take it all in, she retreats back into the antechamber, and the doors slide shut once more, leaving Qwynt alone. It takes Miranda a few moments to process the transformation she has just witnessed and, steadying herself, she approaches the doors once again. As they slide open, she edges into the room, sure to stay near the wall lest the wind pick her up and blow her right out the window. "This is a poor use of corporate funds, Mr. Qwynt," she intones. When Smitherbodkins is summoned by an associate to discuss business, he always arrives promptly (that is, unless he has something better to do), and today is no exception. He enters only moments after Miranda, though enough later that the doors to the inner chamber have already slid closed, so he has no warning of the current state of the room. Unlike Ms. Jabs, he gives an affable nod to the workers who inhabit the antechamber, murmuring greetings as he passes. Reaching the chamber, the doors open for him as well, and almost immediately, the wind blows his hat clean off his head and begins to carry it toward the gaping hole in the wall. Smitherbodkins gasps, leaping forward with no regard for the danger, and just manages to snag it before it drops over the edge. He reaches a hand to what's left of the wall, steadying himself as he leans forward over the edge, clearly not perturbed by the immense drop. "Amazing," he breathes, captivated by the view in front of him. Qwynt's eyes barely open at Miranda's entrance. He gives her a half smile. "Oh, you will find I have made a great many other improvements," the gruff Prex rasps. "But come in, come in. Let us make some business deals. It will be like old times." He beckons her to the center of the room. "And Mr. Smitherbodkins! We're all here. Watch yourself there." He clears his throat, but pauses, giving the pair a long, expectant stare. Smitherbodkins' hat whips around Jabs's head on its way around the room and almost out the window. By the time she has finished patting her hair back into place, Smitherbodkins' narrow escape from certain death has already passed. At Qwynt's words, Miranda Jabs closes her eyes and one hand raises to press on her temple for a moment. Then she pulls out a datapad and takes her sweet time making some notes and even lifts it to take several pictures of the newly designed room using the built in camera. Finally, she stows it away and advances to the center of the room, keeping certain to stay on the far side of the room from the window. "Yes, that slimy weather on Nar Shaddaa," she says dryly. Smitherbodkins manages to tear himself away from the fascinating spectacle of the sheer, dizzying drop, and turns back toward the pair, only now taking in the other additions that the newly elected Prex has taken upon himself to make. He chuckles, "Interesting what you've done with the place, Mr. Qwynt. I must say, I might have gone with white marble, instead of the black. Although black does project a certain image, I suppose." The wind billows around them as he speaks, but luckily, his voice is so naturally loud that he doesn't need to raise it any more than usual. "You requested our presence?" "Oh, that? No. I can no longer relate to your minor problems, Ms Jabs. My concerns are profits on the scale of planets, entire races, systems. The galaxy." He shrugs, his godlike visage unperturbed. "But am I without mercy and grace? My munificence has grown in proportion to my reach, rest assured." As Smitherbodkins makes decorating suggestions, Qwynt nods seriously. The throne will be white-veined marble by the morning. "I called the two of you here to make you an offer you cannot refuse. As my Empire has grown, opportunities have also appeared for loyal members of my retinue." Miranda pushes her lips together into such a tight line that they are almost invisible. Later, she will have to have a talk with Smitherbodkins about her "minor problems" and the promises he made to her about certain deliveries. In the meantime, she is not so stupid as to let any business opportunity pass her by, no matter how repugnant the source. Her complaints to the ExO about the new decor can wait at least until she has heard Qwynt out. "I'm listening." Smitherbodkins seems unconcerned about the turn of events, simply shooting Miranda a look accompanied by an almost imperceptible shrug. Turning back to the interestingly coifed and painted Toydarian, his eyebrows raise as he simply says, "Oh?" A smile plays at the corners of his lips and he places the end of his cane on the floor, fingers interlacing over the bulbous body of the spider that sits atop it as he waits to be informed of Qwynt's grand plans. "Let me make this simple. I've come a long way, but I'm still from Toydaria," Qwynt says, glowering at them both. "I'm offering you a special position, as my left and right hands. Captains of my designs. You will become known as I am known - as a god. You will not run a company any longer, but companies. Entire sectors will tremble at our combined might." Qwynt's spindly arms are raised to the heavens. Striking a more practical note, he sits up and takes off, hovering over the throne. "Of course, nothing comes for free. I need certain things. Unlimited access to FoxTech: designs, resources, ships, tech. All strictly off book. Same thing with Bodkins -- I have a research project starting up that will benefit from your connections. I take 40 percent of whatever you make due to my generosity. And there's a small buy in, to show you're serious. A million, from each of you, up front." He lets that sink in for a moment, and then adds: "And I'll be needing your answer immediately." By the conclusion of Qwynt's offer, Miranda stands dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open. She begins to speak, but no sound comes out. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish out of water. She seems to be arguing with herself quietly. Having been around the block a few times, she is aware that the Prex actually has very few powers: among them running Direx meetings, certainly far from godlike, so how he would deliver on such promises is questionable. At the same time, he also oversees the OOAG, and the last thing she needs is a full audit of her books. The offer is enticing, but she is not sure that the offerer is entirely sane. Turning him down flat-out would be ill-advised. "Mr. Qwynt," she finally manages to say, respectfully even, "That is quite an...offer." The adjective is pointedly missing. Smitherbodkins has been subjected to so many of Qwynt's antics that this new one barely even causes him to break stride. True, it's completely outrageous, but Smitherbodkins has come to expect this from the amusing little Toydarian, and he seems to be considering the offer, if only to see what Qwynt could possibly have that would be of the least interest to him. After all, he (or rather, J'Eeves) does thorough checks on all his associates, and so knows of Qwynt's rather dubious holdings. He also refrains from mentioning anything that may be on his mind, but simply nods to punctuate Miranda's statement, echoing, "Quite an offer indeed." He pauses, regarding the spectacle before him, "You must admit, Mr. Qwynt, that this is all rather out of the ordinary. Perhaps before we give an answer, we may hear a bit more about what you intend for us to do for you?" "Isn't it? As rare an opportunity as it is undeserved," Qwynt notes to Jabs dryly. He waits for Smitherbodkins's answer and nods. They seem of one mind. Easily swayed. "Come then, and gaze on my master plan." He flies past Jabs, his scented essence heavy with musk. The Toydarian goes to a spot near the un-window and tosses his sleeves back so that he can motion outside. A tiny jeweled scepter is in his left hand, but his right one is free to draw out his battle plan upon the very landscape. A flat layer of clouds have formed somewhere around the 160th floor, deceivingly making it look as if they are only 40 floors or so up. Where the clouds break in the distance, the view is stunning -- the heavy industries, the planetary headquarters -- it is enough to make one's head swim. "Now then. Jabs. Your part first." Jabs can see out the window just fine from her side of the room, so she stays put. This is probably a bad move, as really she should be out the door and in the turbolift already, but the vile creature intrigues and, yes, even amuses her in its grotesque display of power lust. As he flutters over to the uncovered window, she reflects what a shame it is that he can fly, and pushing him over the edge would do nothing to further her cause. She nods slightly at him as he explains his grand plan. Smitherbodkins, on the other hand, needs no more urging than this to make his way back to the edge of the room. He peers off into the distance, shading his eyes with one hand and squinting to make out that bewitching evidence of the wonders created by sentient minds. Technology as far as the eye can see, though not quite as far as the intellect can dream, and that knowledge alone is what keeps him here in the room, instead of turning on his heel and walking out the door without so much as a backward glance at the ridiculous Toydarian. He does not speak; it's almost as if he thinks that any words he could use would profane such beauty. "From here to about here," Qwynt indicates with the blade of his small hand, carving up an industrial park. "Do you see how they cluster together, cowering together in their plants? This entire sector needs a new vision... eh? Jabs, c'mere, you can't see from over there. What in the galaxy?" Qwynt's expression loses some of its slackness, and he wheels to Smitherbodkins, hanging one of his tiny arms on Smitherbodkins's shoulders. "Well, I guess you get first pick, eh old boy?" Qwynt turns him to be oriented at the heavy metals district, rasping conspiratorially. "This place is ripe for development. I was going to take it for my own, but you know what?" At this point, the conversation takes a decidedly different direction as Qwynt slings his own body up and to the side, making Smitherbodkins into a counterweight. The Toydarian plants his foot hard into Smitherbodkins's upper back, giving the gentleman a hard shove out the window. "I think I'll keep that one for myself!" Miranda sees what Qwynt is about to do just before he does it and leaps into action, only too late. By the time she rounds the table to the near side of the window, the deed is done, and Smitherbodkins has been given a hard shove. Against all her better instincts, Miranda does not stop, which might allow the gruesome creature to flutter away with impunity out the window. Instead she launches herself at him, attempting to restrain the Toydarian and yelling "Guards!" hoping that one of the workmen out in the lobby will hear her. Of course that is only if the soundproofing was removed from the door for the renovations. For an instant, Smitherbodkins doesn't quite realize what has happened. He teeters on the precipice that so entranced him, and inexplicably, the barest of smiles comes to his lips as the view becomes even more lovely, unmarred now by any part of the building. However, this brief moment of euphoria is short lived, for as he begins to really feel himself falling, he twists his body in midair, wrenching himself around with all his might. It's not elegant, but he barely - just barely - manages to grasp the ledge with the fingers of one hand. A grunt escapes him as his body smacks into the side of the wall, knocking the wind from him. This doesn't deter him for long, though, knowing as he does now Qwynt's true purpose. His knuckles on the edge turn bright white as he strains to pull himself back up. The other hand grasps frantically at the ledge, pulling for all it's worth, and after a moment, his head appears, then his shoulders. His arm slips into the room for better purchase as he hauls himself up, finally managing to swing a leg over the side and roll himself to safety. Though he lets out a sigh of relief at his narrow escape from certain death, he doesn't waste a moment of the momentum the roll gives him. It allows him to get to one knee, and he's up in an instant, his face a mask of shock and anger. However, he also seems strangely invigorated, In the same smooth, fluid motion, he presses a button on his cane, causing the deep mahogany sheath to slip away, revealing a thin, razor-sharp sword. He leaps forward, his body between the Toydarian and the window, and crouches slightly in a dueling stance, empty hand flung behind him, sword hand pointed straight at the Toydarian's throat. "I accept!" "What! What?!" is all Qwynt can say as he is assaulted by Miranda. His wig goes flying off, fluttering leaf-like out into the great expanse in front of them before being violently grabbed by the wind. The Toydarian manages to get his scepter up to defend himself. Though he is round and leathered, by virtue of his species he weighs almost nothing, and his strength at birth was only distributed to his keen mind and not his frame, which is slight and knobbed with joints. Qwynt strikes at Miranda's face with his kingly rod, the insane struggle edging them both nearer the ledge. "Jabs, get your wits about you! I could have never had TWO second-in-commands! You know that!" Smitherbodkins looked, well, alive, and that made him immediately out of Qwynt's fighting class. Together, he and Jabs could take him, but it won't even cross his mind to attempt actual, ha, combat! Qwynt uses his sole advantage, flight, to position himself at a weird angle, using the flailing Jabs as a shield from the invigorated Smitherbodkins. "It would have never worked between us, Smitherbodkins. Do you really think you belong here? You're not made for this league, with your fancy words and your, your dirty books!" Spittle flies from his maw as he strikes at Miranda once more. An odd thing, as he's trying to win her over at the same time. "Jabs and I have no place in our plans for a junk shop owner." Miranda claws at Qwynt but flinches back as Qwynt assaults her with his diadem, just enough that he manages to flutter out of her reach. She is busy trying to leap to catch him when Smitherbodkins, who she had assumed was as good as dead, climbs back up from the ledge and draws his sword. Knowing better than to get in the middle of a Corellian accepting a duel, especially one with a weapon drawn, Miranda chooses to protect her most important corporate assets (HERSELF HAHA) and retreats behind the table. The growl that emits from Smitherbodkins is certainly not one that has ever been heard to come from him by any of the inhabitants of the room; it's a harsh, almost animal sound. He advances on Qwynt, sword point glistening menacingly as he continues to keep himself in between the Toydarian and the obvious means of escape, besides the door which Miranda now blocks. "Oh, I know that," he snarls, his sword hand perfectly steady from years of private instruction and practice. "I know all about you, Mr. Qwynt. You are not as clandestine as you think you are." He seems to have eyes only for the little flying being, though he utilizes Miranda's position at the door to attempt to corner his adversary. "You have two choices, Mr. Qwynt. You may abdicate your responsibilities as Prex, and refuse the responsibility any time in the future that your name is drawn for this position. Or, you may give me the satisfaction of slitting your throat." Qwynt adopts the same stance as his actually skilled opponent, holding the rod of his power as a sword, his breathing heavy and eyes wild. He blocks one cut, but on the second swipe of Smitherbodkins's sword, his scepter is wrenched from his hand and is sent into the nothingness outside, disappearing silently. "Uh, heh heh?" the Toydarian questions. "Abdicate? Or you'll /murder/ me? This is a coup!" he gurgles. "It's outrageous. Jabs! Notify the Board -- we won't tolerate this blackguard in our midsts any longer!" Shouts ring out from behind the sealed doors. Apparently the construction had indeed removed the soundproof seal between the antechamber and the conference room itself. Most likely the construction workers heard Miranda's shouts for the guards and somehow managed to round some up. Thankfully, there is no such thing as a weekend in the corporate sector. The doors to the antechamber open and a number of CSA security officers rush in, weapons drawn. "What's going on here?" they demand, pointing their weapons at Smitherbodkins, his weapon drawn and threatening the new Prex. Before either of the men can respond, Miranda has thrown herself between them and the guards doing her best impersonation of a damsel in distress. "Oh, thank goodness you came. They were fighting over _me_. Oh, don't let them hurt each other, please!" There is a moment of awkward silence as the guards look at Miranda, the plainly dressed, mannish woman, and then look between the dashing and handsome Smitherbodkins and the gnarled Toydarian flapping about. "Um, okay, you two!" the head guard says, still giving Miranda a puzzled look. "Dueling on corporate property is one night in the brig! Put away your weapons. Come with us." They level their blasters at Smitherbodkins and Qwynt, waiting for them to come along peaceably. Miranda smiles winningly at both of them, having saved Qwynt from certain death, and Smitherbodkins from certain murder charges. Smitherbodkins's mouth sets grimly as Qwynt makes his choice, beginning to move into the strike that would no doubt finalize the business arrangement between them. However, at the exact instant that his arm begins to thrust forward, the guards burst in, with their admonitions and their blasters. He blinks, looking between the guards and his opponent, as though deciding whether it would be worth defying the guards and finishing Qwynt off, or not. His thoughts continue along this much more immediately satisfying path, until they reach their inevitably tiresome conclusion, and he lets out the slightest of sighs, turning his sword very slowly so that the point is away from anyone in the room and raising his other hand in deference to the security guards. He takes a few slow steps backward, retrieving the sheath from the floor and slipping the blade into it until it clicks closed, the spider's legs returning to their previous position atop it. "It's quite all right, gentlemen. The brig, you say? Certainly." He begins to make his way toward the door, head held high, his trademark smile settling back on his face, hiding any residual anger he may be feeling. However, as he passes Jabs, he grabs her hand, and then, in one graceful motion, dips her down nearly to the floor and says, his voice low and intimate but still audible to those in the room, "I shall think of you every minute in my cell, my love." With that, he plants a passionate kiss on her lips, holding her there for a moment before he brings her up again, his last word brushing against her ear, "Farewell." He turns to the now completely stunned guards, "I shall come quietly." Qwynt is completely taken off guard by the bizarre sequence of the guards' arrival, Jabs' incredible lie, and the guards' acceptance of that fact. While he's happy to not be dead, a long string of a very foul language dribbles from his maw, including a few strident gestures made at the lot of them. A small black plastic baggy falls from somewhere beneath his robe as he curses, and a white-yellow crystalline substance with the granularity of sugar sprays across the room. Glitterstim. Qwynt doesn't notice that his stash has been revealed, and starts ahead, flinching at the guard's touch when he takes him by the upper arm to lead him. But it is not until Smitherbodkins wins their fictional contest for the hand of Jabs that he really loses connection with dignity, patience, or reality. "What the! This is poodoo. You're going down, Smitherbodkins! I'll see to it! I'LL SEE TO IT!" His long, unhinged laughter echoes through the building even as he is led away to the brig. Before she knows what is happening, Miranda is swept up in Smitherbodkins' arms and kissed vigorously. He sets her to rights back on her feet and is quickly led off, leaving the FoxTech CEO blinking in a shocked and confused manner. Her usual instinct, to avoid all touch all the time at all costs, is momentarily delayed, as she tries to parse what just happened. The guards might have thought it strange that this show of passion was not met with an equal show of devotion except that Qwynt's thrashing and cursing is exceedingly distracting to them, as they have to practically drag him from the room, shouting expletives as he goes. Once the room has cleared out, Miranda takes out a small bottle of disinfected and sprays it on her hands and dabs it around her mouth. Then she putters over to where Qwynt had been hovering and gathers up the small black case and whatever white substance she can find. Thankfully the guards are not particularly observant. This small amount of spice will not fill the order she had put in to the pair originally, but she would count it as a small deposit toward what she was owed.